


The Sharpest Lives

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clexa Halloween Week, F/F, Halloween, Minor Violence, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-01-26 23:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12568128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Prompt:Lexa and Clarke haven’t ever particularly got along well. One is the resident geek, another is popular. They’re forced together when a knife-wielding maniac starts hunting one of them during Halloween night. (Is it a prank or something more sinister and real? You choose!)For Clexa Halloween Week, Day 6: Free Day, or Trick-or-Treat Prompt





	1. Chapter 1

She had tried to be subtle. She had tried to keep a safe distance between her and her target – no, not _her_ target, _his_ target, or both of theirs, but she was doing it for the _right_ reasons – to avoid being noticed. She'd thought that if she could just follow her long enough she would eventually go home, or somewhere else where she would be safe, and it would all be over.

Then she saw the knife. 

There was no mistaking it for rubber. It wasn't just a prop. The streetlight caught the blade and made it glint in a way that could only be from real metal. 

Lexa's stomach clenched, and for a second she regretted all of the mini candy bars she'd stolen from the bowl at home and eaten in lieu of dinner. Then she saw the man accelerate his pace, starting to close the distance between himself and his intended victim, and the ice in her veins turned to resolve. She kept to the shadows, her rather cliché ninja costume suddenly an asset as she slid up beside the girl she never imagined she would find herself chasing after and wrapped on arm around her waist, the other hand clamping over her mouth to keep her from screaming. "I'm sorry, Clarke," she whispered as she dragged her off the sidewalk and into the gap between two houses. 

The girl thrashed in her arms, fighting with everything she had to get away from her, trying to sink her teeth into her fingers, and Lexa was grateful for the gloves that she wore. She managed to get her pinned against a wall, hunkered down far enough that they were shielded by the garbage and recycling bins. 

"I'm sorry," she said again, her voice low and slightly muffled by the fabric that covered her face. She locked eyes with the other girl, trying to make her understand. "I'm not trying to hurt you. There's a man following you. A man with a knife. I don't know who, or why, but I couldn't—" She stopped. "If I take my hand away, will you promise not to scream?"

There was a long enough hesitation that Lexa knew that she was seriously considering it, and she couldn't risk that. "Clarke," she said. "Please."

Maybe it was the repetition of her name that finally got through; Lexa wasn't sure. But she stopped trying to bite, stopped pushing against Lexa to try to escape, and nodded. Lexa took her hand away slowly, ready to clap it back into place at the first sign of her preparing to scream. Which she did almost immediately, lunging at Lexa at the same time so that she was knocked off balance and she had to tackle Clarke to stop her from bolting back into the street, and probably straight into the man with the knife's arms. 

"You may have just killed us both," she hissed, trying to haul her back out of sight as footsteps stopped at the end of the narrow alley between the houses. She pressed her face into the back of Clarke's shoulder to stifle the sound of her breathing, peering out with one eye, hoping that the man – it had to be him – would just keep walking. She found herself silently counting, and made it up to seven before the shuffle-scrape of boots on pavement turned toward them.

She rolled off of Clarke and onto her feet, yanking her up by the back of her jacket and shoving her behind her. "Run!" she yelled, and turned to face their attacker. She couldn't see the knife, and panic rose in her chest.  
She knew how to handle a knife attack. She'd been trained in it, had drilled it over and over again... but the knives weren't real. The stakes weren't life or death. And the first thing that they learned was if you had any chance to avoid having to defend yourself against a knife, take it. And yet here she was, standing her ground, to buy a girl she barely knew and didn't particularly like a few precious seconds to escape.

The man moved quickly, more quickly than she would have imagined, and although there was not, scientifically, really such a thing as muscle memory, when she finally saw the flash of the blade, her training kicked in like instinct and she dodged, following through with a brutal strike of her knee to his face and then a fist to the back of his neck, dropping him to the ground. The knife skittered from his grip and Lexa grabbed it, for a split-second tempted to end this once and for all, but no, that wasn't the answer. She rolled him over and swiped her glove through the blood that had begun to pour down his face and then, knife still in hand, she ran, tipping the bins over in her wake to at least slow him down if he decided to follow. 

When she was once again in open space, she looked around frantically. If Clarke had any sense, she would have run as far and as fast as she could. But what if she hadn't? She had to find her, make sure she was safe, and then...

She didn't know what then. 

She didn't even really know why she was doing this, why she cared, other than it was the right thing to do when you saw someone being stalked by a man with a knife. 

Lexa turned at the sound of a low whistle, and saw a flash of bright blonde hair in a cluster of trees. She made her way toward it, and Clarke looked her up and down, hands out but not touching her, like she was searching for injuries. "Who _are_ you?" she asked. 

"Doesn't matter," Lexa said. 

"The hell it doesn't," Clarke said. "You know my name. How do I know that you're not—" It was then that she seemed to take in the fact that Lexa was holding the knife, and she stumbled back half a step... only to approach again a second later. "You're bleeding."

As soon as she said it, the pain finally registered. Lexa lifted her right arm and saw that yes, she was, in fact, bleeding. The knife had slashed through the sleeve of her costume, and there was a long gash down her forearm that was bleeding freely, dripping onto the leaves at their feet. "Shit."

"Come on," Clarke said, reaching out, her fingers digging into the elbow of Lexa's uninjured arm. "We need to get that looked at."

"No," Lexa says. Habit. Reflex. "It's... I'll be fine."

"Well at least let me bandage it up for you," Clarke said. "Come on. My house isn't far."

Lexa dug in her heels, resisting. "If he's still following us, we'll lead him right to you," she said.

"Do you have a better idea?" Clarke asked. "If so, I'd love to hear it."

"Yes," Lexa said. "This way." 

Clarke followed, but she didn't look thrilled about it. Lexa got it. She did. She wouldn't be keen on following someone she didn't know, or thought she didn't, to a strange apartment, even if that person had saved her life, either. At the door to the building, Clarke finally balked. "I'm not going in until I know who you are," she said. 

Lexa looked around, and then nodded and tugged down the mask that covered the lower half of her face. 

Clarke's eyes went wide. " _Lexa_?"

"Yes," Lexa said. "Can we go in now?"

Surprise turned to suspicion, but finally she nodded, and Lexa fished around in her pocket (because even ninjas needed pockets) to find her key, unlocked the door and let them in, making sure that it closed securely behind them. She clutched her arm against her chest so she didn't leave a trail of blood all the way up the five flights of stairs, finally arriving at their destination and twisting the key in the lock and shoving inside. 

They headed straight for the bathroom, and it was like a switch flipped in Clarke – quiet, nerdy, chess club Clarke – and turned her into someone else. Someone that Lexa didn't recognize. "Take it off," she said, gesturing to Lexa's costume. "I need to see how bad it is." When Lexa didn't immediately comply, she rolled her eyes. "You think you have anything I haven't seen before?" she asked. Her eyes narrowed. "Or do you just think you're too good for me? Because if you'd rather patch yourself up, that's fine by me."

Lexa recognized it for what it was: false bravado. The fake-it-'til-you-make-it front you put up when you were outside of your comfort zone and in over your head and you didn't want anyone to know. She recognized it because it was the same act she'd put on for her entire first year at Arkadia High, where she'd been the new girl, starting a month into their sophomore year, determined that this time things would be different. They had to be, even if it meant becoming someone else entirely. 

And she'd done it. She'd gotten involved with all of the right clubs, befriended the right people, and now that they were seniors, she ruled the school. Literally. The election for student council president hadn't even been close. She was popular. She was untouchable. 

She was lonely. 

Which she would never admit to anyone. No one would believe her if she did. Clarke might be a geek, a misfit who people saw as too smart, too driven, too prickly and opinionated, but she had a few friends, and they were _real_ friends. Ride or die BFFs that would have her back no matter what, and who knew she would have theirs.

Lexa's 'friends' were more the smile to your face, stab you in the back when it suited their purposes type. So maybe, on top of everything else, she was jealous.

"Well?" Clarke prompted. 

"Sorry," Lexa muttered, and pulled the hood from her head, not caring that her hair was probably a tangled, squashed mess, and then yanked the top off, wincing as the material tugged at the cut where dried blood had stuck it to her skin. She flinched away when Clarke reached for her, but Clarke wasn't taking no for an answer, and she grabbed her good arm, guiding her to the edge of the tub and sitting her there, because it was easier to wash the wound there than in the small sink. 

"Where's your first aid kit?" Clarke asked.

"Under the sink," Lexa said. "The tackle box."

She thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile at that, but probably Clarke's face had just twitched. She crouched down to open the cabinet, and then turned, still kneeling, as she opened it. It gave Lexa a very good view down the front of her shirt, and she quickly looked up toward the ceiling, her cheeks flushed with heat that she told herself was just because of the change in temperature from outdoors to in. 

Lexa kept her focus on anything but Clarke as she cleaned the cut and examined it. "It's not too deep," she said. "It should be all right with just butterfly strips. Hopefully." She laid a ratty old towel over Lexa's knees and worked on her arm there, sticking the wound back together and then applying antibiotic ointment carefully before wrapping it all up with gauze and fastening the ends down with tape. 

"Thanks," Lexa said. 

Clarke just nodded as she cleaned up and put everything away. When she was done, she looked back at Lexa, her features etched with a frown. "Why were you following me?"

"Because I saw the man with the knife," Lexa said. 

Clarke's face twitched again, this time definitely not a smile. "So instead of calling the cops, you decided to play superhero?"

"You sound like Anya," Lexa said. "Spare me the lecture. Usually when someone saves your life, you say thank you."

"Oh? Do you have a lot of experience in that department?" Clarke asked. When Lexa didn't answer, she added, "Who's Anya?"

"My sister," Lexa said, because it was the simplest answer. "She's a cop. This is her apartment, but she works nights, so..." She shrugged. "We're safe here, at least for now."

"Safe from your sister?" Clarke asked.

"No," Lexa said. "Safe from the psycho trying to kill you." Why did she insist on misinterpreting everything she said and did? "In the morning she can take you home. Unless you've got someone to call to pick you up?" 

"My mom works nights too," Clarke said. "Mostly, anyway." She sighed. "You should probably change. I'm pretty sure everything you're wearing has blood on it."

"Yeah," Lexa said. "Right." She pushed herself up, suddenly exhausted, and went into the bedroom – there was only one, and only one bed, but it was fine because with their schedules they were rarely home at the same time. When they were both home, they either flipped a coin to see who got the couch, or just shared. When she peeled off the costume pants and looked down, she realized that the blood had soaked through and her skin was crisscrossed with rusty brown streaks. "Fuck."

"Everything okay?" Clarke asked, her voice too close, like she was standing just outside the not-completely-shut door. "Do you have another cut?"

"No," Lexa said. "Just... it's fine."

Clarke barged in. She probably thought Lexa was lying. She wasn't entirely wrong. She looked her up and down. "I probably should have had you wash off before I bandaged everything up," she said, shaking her head like she was disappointed in herself or something. "Do you have any plastic wrap?"

"In the kitchen," Lexa said. "Why?"

"We can try wrapping it up with plastic wrap and taping around the edges," Clarke said. "Like putting a cast in a garbage bag." 

Lexa followed her into a kitchen and let her wrap her arm in plastic and tape, then retreated to the bathroom, only to discover that any time she let her arm drop below the level of her heart it started to throb. She thought about filling the tub, but the idea of steeping in water tinted pink by blood, even her own blood, was more than she could stomach. But then so was staying bloody, which left her with only one humiliating choice. 

"Um. Clarke?"

Clarke appeared at the bathroom door. "What?"

She could feel her ears growing hot, along with her cheeks and down her neck and probably the whole rest of her body, too, if that was possible. "I need help."

Now it was Clarke who seemed to be trying to look everywhere but at her, and she was glad that she had at least kept her bra and panties on... and they stayed on as she stepped into the shower, holding her right arm cradled against her chest as Clarke washed the blood from her skin, getting herself and the whole bathroom soaked in the process. 

"I'll clean this up," Clarke said, at the same time Lexa said, "I'll get us something to change into."

They didn't look at each other as they changed into pajamas. They didn't speak as Clarke took it upon herself to fix them a can of soup and some grilled cheese sandwiches. And they certainly didn't talk about it when they curled up on the couch together, huddled against each other under every throw blanket in the house (which was a not inconsiderable number) as they watched some stupid comedy on TV. 

They both jerked awake when the door slammed. Lexa reached for Clarke, pulling her into her chest like she could protect her or make her invisible if she just held her close enough. "It's okay," she whispered into her ear when she realized it was only her sister. "We're okay." 

"So a man came into the precinct tonight saying that he thought he saw some girl getting kidnapped, and when he tried to stop it he got assaulted by a ninja," Anya said. "I don't suppose you know anything about that?"

Lexa stiffened. "He actually went to the police?"

"Oh _fuck_ , Lexa," Anya groaned. "What did you do?"

"Not what you think," Lexa said. "He was following Clarke. With a knife. I pulled her off the street to get her away from him, but he found us, and attacked me and all I did was defend myself." 

Anya pinched the bridge of her nose. "And I suppose you're Clarke?"

Clarke nodded. "She's not lying," she said. "I didn't see the knife, but there was a guy who came after us in an alley after she dragged me there and he _did_ cut her, so even though I didn't see it, I know that the knife existed."

"It's in the bathroom," Lexa said. "Along with my bloody costume. Right glove has his blood on it. I made sure to get it as evidence." 

"Why would he go to the cops if he was trying to hurt her?" Anya asked. "Explain that to me."

"You can't kill someone if someone else beats you to it," Lexa said. "Or kidnap them or torture them or... or whatever he wanted with her. If he really thought she had been kidnapped, he would want you to find her. So that she would go back home and he could come after her again." Lexa felt Clarke shiver and she tightened her arm around her, rubbing her cheek against her hair without thinking about it.

"You know that sounds crazy, right?" Anya said. 

"Crazy enough to be plausible?"

"What's his name?" Clarke asked.

"I didn't wait to find out," Anya said. "It's not my case. I just heard ninja and—"

"Automatically assumed the worst of me," Lexa said. 

"It's not assuming when it's true," Anya said. 

"Kidnapping?"

"Look, I'm not saying I believed every word the man said. I just... you get these ideas, Lexa, about how you're going to save the world, and—"

"Not the world," Lexa snapped. "Just one life. Is that not acceptable?"

"Are you still holding him?" Clarke asked. 

"I don't know," Anya said. "Hold on." She called someone, maybe her partner or someone else at the precinct. After a minute, she walked down the short hallway to the bathroom and shut the door. 

Clarke turned to look at Lexa. "You really think he would be that stupid?"

"Maybe," Lexa said. "There are certain types of criminals who will put themselves right in the middle of the investigation because they want the attention. It could be that. Or it could be what I said before, or it could be something else entirely. I don't know. I just saw someone following you after you left your friend's house – and I just happened to be there, right place at the right time, I wasn't looking for you – and I was just going to follow you, too, until I saw that you got home, and then figure it out from there, but then I saw the knife and... now we're here."

"Now we're here," Clarke agreed. 

Anya came back. "Someone is coming to take your statements," she said. "I can't do it because of the potential conflict of interest. But we've got him in custody. They're going to drag things out as long as they can with him, taking his statement about the quote-unquote kidnapping. If there is anything else that you think I should know, you'd better tell me now, Lexa, because once this starts rolling, I don't know how much I'm going to be able to protect you."

"I'm telling the truth," Lexa said. "I've never lied to you."

"Okay," Anya said. "Let me see where he cut you." She checked Lexa's bandaged arm, smoothing her fingers lightly over it and then pulling Lexa into a quick, tight hug. "I'm glad you're okay." She glanced at Clarke. "Both of you."

Several officers arrived, and their questions seemed endless. Lexa expected that they would try to separate them, but they didn't. Maybe because Anya was standing right there, glowering, or maybe they thought this was all a waste of time and so they didn't care about proper procedure. 

Finally Detective Lincoln showed Clarke a picture on his phone. "Do you recognize this man?" he asked. 

Slowly, Clarke nodded. "He showed up at the hospital one time when I was visiting my mom," she said. "She's a surgeon. He started talking about how she was going to pay for what she'd done, that he was going to make sure that she knew what it was like to lose a child. Security had to come drag him away. But that was months ago."

"And that's motive," Anya said. 

"Thank you," Detective Lincoln said. "If I need anything else, I'll let you know. And if you think of anything else..." He handed them each a card. "You have a good rest of your night."

Anya watched him, followed by the woman from the forensics team who had taken the knife and Lexa's bloody clothes as evidence. She looked back at them and sighed. "Are you two going to be all right?" she asked. "I need to get back to work."

"We'll be fine," Lexa said. "Right?"

Clarke nodded, then stopped. "Do you think they're going to call my mom?"

"They might," Anya said. "Do you want me to take you home?"

"She's at work."

"Do you want me to take you there?"

Clarke frowned. "Let me call her."

Anya waited while Clarke talked to – and talked down – her mom. In the end her mother must have agreed to let her stay, because after she hung up she told Anya everything was all set, as long as she could take her home in the morning. 

Lexa was honestly surprised that Clarke had wanted to stay at all, but then if she would have just been going home to an empty house, maybe it wasn't so hard to understand. "Did you want to...?" She gestured toward the television.

"I just want to sleep," Clarke said. "For a week."

"Yeah," Lexa agreed. "Come on." She led her to the bedroom, and they settled into the bed together. If Anya had a problem with it, she could yell at her about it later. It didn't seem fair to ask Clarke to sleep on the couch after everything she'd been through, and Lexa wanted to be close, just in case. 

Clarke drew the covers up over her shoulders so that only her head stuck out and closed her eyes. Lexa tried not to stare, but it was hard. She finally forced herself to close her own eyes, thinking maybe if she just shut out the world her brain might shut off as well.

"Hey Lexa?"

Her eyes popped open again and she found herself staring straight into Clarke's eyes, her face so close their noses brushed, and she could feel Clarke's breath on her skin. She licked her lips. "Yes?"

Clarke's eyes darted down and then back up again, and a second later her mouth pressed against Lexa's in a soft but not at all uncertain kiss. It took a second for Lexa to realize what was happening, and to decide that even though maybe this was just because of their brush with death, and maybe they would regret it in the morning, or maybe they would pretend that it had never happened and go back to being the geek and the popular girl, she still wanted it. She wanted this moment, wanted this connection, wanted Clarke. 

They kissed as if their lives depended on it, fingers digging like they were trying to grab hold of each other's bones, lips mashed against teeth as they sucked the air from each other lungs, legs tangled together as they ground against each other, riding each other's thighs until first Clarke, then Lexa gasped and groaned and buried their faces against each other's shoulders, not quite able to look at each other after what they'd only sort of intentionally done. 

Lexa brushed her lips against the soft skin Clarke's neck and felt Clarke shiver, her hands tightening against Lexa and then releasing, one sliding into her hair and the other under her shirt, stroking her back in slow, gentle circles. As her pounding pulse seemed to respond to the rhythm, she found Clarke's lips again, but stopped just shy of kissing her, suddenly unsure. 

Clarke must have noticed the hesitation because her hand stopped. "I'm sorry if—" she started, but Lexa shook her head.

"Don't be," she said. "I just... is it okay if I kiss you?"

"Yes," Clarke said, and met her halfway, and this time there was no urgency, no desperation, and Lexa melted into it, letting her thoughts go fuzzy and fantasy take over that maybe this could be the beginning of something, and maybe she wouldn't be alone anymore now, and maybe... 

The kisses grew slower and after a while Lexa wasn't sure whether they were real or dreams anymore. She let her lips slip from Clarke's as she rolled over, and Clarke fitted herself against her back, her lips brushing the nape of Lexa's neck as she murmured, "Oh, and Lexa?"

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone more familiar with police procedure than I am. I am fully aware that I almost certainly messed it up.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke woke up to a face full of someone else's hair, and it took her a few seconds to remember where she was and who she was with and why. It took only a fraction of a second longer to remember what had happened that had led to them sleeping tangled up like this and for her whole body to flush. She told herself it was with embarrassment but there was a tiny voice in the back of her head that needled at her, telling her that maybe that was some of the reason – maybe even most of it – but not all. 

Another wave of heat pulsed through her as she realized that her hand was up Lexa's shirt and if she moved her fingers even a little bit she would probably touch her breast, and that was absolutely the last thing she should be doing right now. Or ever. She needed to move her hand before Lexa woke up... but Lexa's arm was draped over hers, impossibly heavy, and Clarke was sure that if she shifted, even a little, Lexa would feel it and wake up, which would defeat the whole purpose. 

God, if she woke up now, what would she think? Would she think that Clarke was trying to grope her in her sleep? Would she get that Clarke hadn't even been aware of where her hand was, that it must have happened in the night somehow and was absolutely not intentional? 

If the roles were reversed, would _she_ believe it if Lexa told her the same thing? 

_Yes,_ she snapped at herself. _Of course you would. She's not some kind of pervert._

And it wasn't like what had happened the night before hadn't been mutual. Lexa had kissed her just as hard, held on just as tight, had taken only a little longer than Clarke had to...

Clarke forced the thought back. It had been an accident. Neither of them had meant for things to go that far. Neither of them had meant anything by it. It had just been a heat of the moment kind of thing. It didn't _mean_ anything.

Except then there had been the kiss after, the one that Lexa had asked for, or asked permission for, the one that had—

The door slammed open and Clarke's arms tightened reflexively like she was pulling blankets in to cover herself, only it wasn't a blanket she was grabbing, it was Lexa. 

_Oh shit._ It was _Lexa_.

Clarke yanked her hands back, shoving herself away so hard she almost fell off the bed. She looked up to see Anya in the bedroom doorway, still in uniform, her eyes darting back and forth between them, gathering evidence to use against them later. 

"Up," Anya said finally. "Both of you. Now. I got coffee and donuts." She looked at Clarke. "Hope you're not some kind of health nut."

"You're such a f—stereotype," Lexa grumbled, sitting up and shoving her hair out of her face. Had she not noticed that in that moment of panic between the door slamming open and Anya's barked command, Clarke had grabbed a handful of her boob? Or was she just that good at pretending? "Are they good ones or the stale ones from the break room last night that no one wanted?"

"You'll have to get up to find out," Anya said. "And don't dawdle. We have to get Clarke home so she can get ready for school."

"Dawdle?" Lexa asked. "Did you age forty years overnight?"

"Considering what you put me through last night, possibly," Anya said. "If I look in the mirror and see a grey hair, I'm gonna kick your ass." 

Lexa just rolled her eyes. She glanced over at Clarke, then looked away again. "You can borrow clothes if you need to. Unless you want to just go home in your pajamas. I can get Anya to take you." 

"I'll just put on my clothes from yesterday," Clarke said. Except when she picked up her jeans, they were spotted with dried blood. Lexa's, since the man who'd been after them – after _her_ \- hadn't ever gotten close enough to bleed on her. Clarke shivered and balled them up. They would go straight in the garbage when she got home... unless maybe the police would need them for evidence? One thing was for sure; there was no way she was putting them back on. Ever. "Maybe some sweatpants?"

Lexa handed her a pair. They said Arkadia Soccer down one leg, and Clarke was just grateful that it wasn't across the butt. When had that become a thing, and why? But then she thought about what the view would be like if Lexa wore a pair like that, and she had her answer... and reason to duck her head so that her hair hung in curtains around her face until some of the redness faded. 

"Today, Lexa!" Anya called from the living room, or maybe it was the kitchen. The only thing that differentiated one from the other was the flooring, which went from dingy linoleum to worn brown carpet to mark the transition. 

"Give us a f—minute," Lexa snapped. "God, she's so annoying."

"Isn't that a sister's job?" Clarke asked, and immediately regretted it. What did she know about being a sister, or having one? She was an only child, and so were most of her friends. Octavia had an older brother who she loved and hated in pretty much equal measure, but he was off at college now, giving Octavia more freedom than she knew what to do with. 

Lexa just shrugged. "I guess." She looked over at Clarke again. "You ready?" 

"Are you... coming with me?" Clarke asked, stumbling slightly on the question because she wasn't sure what she wanted the answer to be. "Or is Anya just dropping me off, or...?"

"I have no idea," Lexa said. She was wearing jeans too loose to be fashionable, a t-shirt and an oversized Arkadia PD hoodie, and her hair was still a tangled mess. She grabbed a brush from the top of the dresser, but when she started to drag it through her hair, she winced and switched hands. 

"Oh... how's your arm?" Clarke asked. 

"Hurts," Lexa replied, focused on her reflection, but Clarke thought she saw her sneak a glance at her through the mirror. 

"If you come with me—"

" _Now_ ," Anya snarled. "Damn it, I just want to drop Clarke off, drop you at school, and get some sleep. Is that too much to ask?"

"Give us a break!" Lexa shouted back. "We're getting ready as fast as we can!" 

There was a thump on the wall, and Clarke flinched, but Lexa just sighed and threw up her middle finger at it without even turning to look. Her brush got tangled in her hair and she finally just growled 'fuck it' and twisted it all into a messy bun. "Take your time," she tossed over her shoulder as she turned for the door. "I'll deal with Officer Crankypants."

"Thanks," Clarke said, not sure how else to respond. Part of her wanted to laugh, but another part of her wanted to cry, because was this what it was like for Lexa every morning? The night before she'd thought that she and her sister were close, but now she wondered. And just the fact that she didn't have a room of her own... or even a bed. Was that even _legal_?

The last thing she ever expected was that she would end up feeling _sorry_ for Lexa Woods. 

She tried to focus on gathering up her things, but her thoughts scattered as the door banged against the wall again, and the person on the other side of the wall (not the one the door had hit, but apparently it didn't matter) knocked on it again. Lexa stormed in and tore off the sweatshirt she was wearing. 

"I didn't say you had to fucking change," Anya said, appearing in her wake with a donut in her hand and powdered sugar dotting the front of her uniform. "Seriously, Lexa, I just—"

"Just go away," Lexa snapped. "For once in your life, can you just leave me the fu—alone? Take Clarke and go."

"And risk you deciding to not show up at school? Not likely," Anya said. 

Lexa whirled on her, hurling the balled-up sweatshirt she held at her face. Anya dodged it lazily. "When have a I ever missed a day of school?" she asked. "I got the _flu_ and I still went to school every day until I physically couldn't get out of bed." 

Clarke remembered that. Not that she made a habit of paying attention to Lexa's comings and goings, but it was hard not to notice when the Homecoming Princess (or whatever it was when you were a junior and not the queen) and junior class president dragged herself through the halls looking like a zombie, and nearly passed out when she stood up to turn in a math test. 

"When did you decide that brawling with men with knives was a good idea?" Anya asked. "How am I supposed to know when and where the vigilantism ends? Maybe you'd decide on your way that there was some wrong that needed righting." 

Lexa looked like she was gearing up to tear into Anya, but then she just deflated. "Just give me a minute to change," she said. "I'll be right out." Her eyes flickered to Clarke in the mirror, then away again, and when Anya left, Clarke followed, giving her a minute to collect herself. 

"Help yourself," Anya said, gesturing to the donuts. "Fresh this morning. Lexa loves them – the one guilty pleasure she'll let herself indulge in." 

Clarke saw the box was from the extra fancy donut place that opened every morning fully stocked, and closed again when they sold out, which on a busy weekend often happened before noon. She chose a Boston cream for herself, because they were the best kind of donut, and anyone who felt otherwise could fight her. Except not really because she wasn't a fighter, and god, what would she have done if Lexa hadn't come along last night? What if that man had caught up to her? Had he been planning to kill her, or just to use the knife to intimidate her and get her to go with him to his dungeon or wherever he planned to take her, and then... what? Blackmail her mother? Torture her? 

Her eyes filled with tears that she hastily brushed away, not wanting Anya to see. She wasn't in the mood for an interrogation. But Anya didn't seem to notice. She just said, "You're lucky I got two of those. Lexa would have sulked."

"I would have given it to her if she wanted it," Clarke said. "I owe her at least that much."

Anya looked at her then, and Clarke felt small under her piercing gaze. But she finally looked away again without saying anything because Lexa had emerged from the bedroom, dressed in tighter jeans and boots instead of sneakers, and a sweater that must have been one of her favorites because she wore it as often as a popular girl could get away with repeating an article of clothing, and Clarke hated herself for noticing every time she did, but it looked so soft, and it clung to her curves in all the right places, and...

"That's my favorite, too," Lexa said, looking into the box and pulling out the second Boston cream. She grabbed some paper napkins from a package on top of the fridge and handed a few to Clarke. "We can eat on the way," she said. She grabbed her school bag and slung it over her shoulder. 

It occurred to Clarke as they exited the apartment that it was going to cause a pretty big stir if she arrived home at... what, six o'clock in the morning?... in a police car. Then she felt stupid because police officers didn't just drive their squad vehicles around like a family car; they left them at the station at the end of their shift for the next group on duty to use... right? 

Anya's car turned out to be just a dingy and worn as the apartment that they lived in. Clarke assumed she would sit in the back, but as she reached for the door Lexa moved past her, jerking it open with a sharp yank and sliding into the seat. Clarke wasn't sure if it was because she was pissed at her sister or if it was some kind of chivalrous gesture, letting Clarke have shotgun, but she climbed into passenger's seat and clicked her seatbelt into place. 

"Where to?" Anya asked. 

Clarke gave her the address, and Anya pulled out without asking for directions, so Clarke assumed she knew where she was going. She guessed as a police officer you probably had to know the city pretty well. In less time than Clarke would have expected (because her neighborhood and Lexa's were world's apart) they pulled into her driveway. Her mother's car was already there; she'd probably just gotten home from her shift. 

"Thanks for the ride," she said, pushing open her door and putting one foot on the ground. She turned and looked at Lexa... or in Lexa's general direction, anyway. She couldn't quite bring herself to make eye contact because she knew if she did she would start blushing. "You could—" She cleared her throat. "If you come in, my mom can probably take a look at your arm."

"It's fine," Lexa said. Then, belatedly, "Thank you."

"Are you sure?" Clarke asked. "I did my best, but she's, y'know, a professional, so..."

"Really, it's—" Lexa started, but Anya cut her off.

"Let's go," Anya said. "Saves us a trip to urgent care later."

Clarke saw a muscle in Lexa's jaw twitch, but she didn't say anything other than, "Fine." She got out of the car, looking like she wanted the slam the door, but a quick glance around the still mostly sleeping neighborhood must have given her second thoughts, because she closed it gently and followed Clarke in.

"Mom, I'm—" Clarke didn't get any further than that before she found herself engulfed in a hug, her mother squeezing her harder than she had since Clarke's father's funeral, and Clarke had shaken her off then, almost shoved her away, but this time she let her have her moment. When she finally let go she held Clarke at arm's length, looking her up and down, searching for any evidence of the previous night's ordeal. 

"I'm fine," Clarke said. "Mom. I'm fine. I wasn't the one who got hurt." She shifted to the side so her mother could see Lexa. "She got cut, though. I thought maybe while I'm getting ready you could check it? It didn't seem too deep, and it was a clean cut, so I used butterfly strips and—"

"I'll look," her mom said. "You go get ready." She looked for a moment like she might hug Lexa like she'd hugged Clarke, but thankfully she restrained herself. Clarke got the feeling Lexa wouldn't appreciate the gesture. She tried to ignore the slightly panicked look in Lexa's eyes as she headed for the stairs; she really did need a shower and a change of clothes. 

"I'm Abby," her mother introduced herself. Clarke hesitated on the stairs, waiting for a response, but one wasn't immediately forthcoming. 

"Anya," she finally heard. "This is Lexa."

"Let's go see about that cut," Abby said, leading Lexa to the bathroom. Once they were out of sight, Clarke finished her climb up the stairs and headed for her own bathroom, where she stripped down and climbed into nearly scalding water to scrub away any remaining traces of the previous night. 

When she went back downstairs, Anya was gone. It was just Lexa and her mother, sitting at the kitchen table in silence, her mother cradling a cup of coffee between her hands, Lexa picking at her donut. Her sleeve was down so Clarke couldn't see what her mother had done, but she was sure if she'd gotten anything wrong she would hear about it later. 

"You'll need to hurry up and eat," her mom said. "I'll drop the two of you off."

Clarke swallowed hard. "The two..." 

"I told Officer Woods that she could head home, that I was more than capable of dropping two girls off at school instead of one." Her mother smiled. "Did you want me to make you something quick, or—"

"I had a donut on the way here," Clarke said. "I'm fine."

Her mother made a face that said she wasn't impressed with her choice of breakfast food, and in her head Clarke knew that she was right; if she was lucky she might make it all the way to third period before the sugar crash hit. But it had tasted good, like secret trips to the bakery with her dad on Saturday mornings when her mother was stuck late at work or already asleep by the time Clarke woke up, and she refused to regret it. 

"Are you ready to go then?" Abby asked. 

Clarke nodded, and Lexa did the same, pushing back her chair and standing. She wrapped the rest of her donut in one of the napkins she'd stuffed into her pocket; Clarke assumed she was saving it for later. Although how she would manage to eat something so obviously bad for you while surrounded by her calorie-obsessed cohort, Clarke wasn't sure. 

They got into the car, Lexa in the back again and Clarke sitting next to her mother. She jumped out as soon as the car came to a stop, not wanting to give her mother the chance to make a scene. Lexa got out a second later, saying a quick thank you to Abby before making a break for the school, no doubt not wanting to possibly be seen getting out of the same car as Clarke. 

Under different circumstances, Clarke might have been insulted. Now that she knew a little bit more about Lexa's life, though... she couldn't imagine how hard it must be to keep up the façade she'd created. Because Clarke was absolutely sure that her so-called friends knew nothing about the circumstances that she lived in, and that Lexa probably went to great lengths to keep it that way. The fact that she'd let Clarke see it... well, it could have meant any number of things, but the most likely one, Clarke thought, was that she just didn't see Clarke as important enough to hide it from. 

Which meant Clarke had leverage, if she ever needed it. 

But why would she need it? 

She tried to stop her thoughts from spiraling as she tugged open the door and stepped inside. For a second she thought about going to find Lexa, but realized there was no point because what would she say? Whatever had happened between them didn't mean anything, and they needed to just go back to their opposite ends of the social spectrum and forget about it.

* * *

"Earth to Clarke. What are you staring at?"

Clarke forced herself to tear her attention away from Lexa, who was sitting at her usual table with her usual group of friends, smiling and laughing as if nothing had happened and as if she didn't have a care in the world... or at least not anything more important than what this year's prom theme was going to be, or who was bringing what to the bake sale, or whatever it was that student council concerned itself with, because as far as Clarke could tell it had nothing to do with improving the lives of the students. 

"No one," she said, focusing on Wells, who sat across from her. "I mean nothing."

Wells turned to look where she'd been staring and bristled. "Did someone do something?" he asked, stiffening a little. Wells was a complete pacifist, but he still looked ready to throw down... or at least give someone a _really_ stern talking-to if Clarke told him that one of the popular kids had done her wrong. 

"No," she said. "I'm fine." She forced a smile. "I just really shouldn't watch scary movies when I'm home alone. I barely slept last night, and now I keep zoning out." 

Wells grinned. "You probably shouldn't watch scary movies at all. I still say this is your fault." He held up one hand to show the pinkie finger that was slightly crooked. There wasn't actually anything wrong with it, but Wells swore that it had grown that way because of all the times Clarke had squeezed his hand too tight when they watched anything even remotely frightening as children. She'd toughened up since then... sort of. And she didn't think it was fair to compare clinging to someone's hand because something on a movie screen scared you with clinging to another human being because you had just narrowly escaped death. 

Not that anyone _was_ comparing those things. Not that anyone would, because they didn't know. They would never know, if Clarke had her way, but she guessed that would really depend on what happened with the guy they'd taken into custody and whether they had enough to actually keep him there. Which... what if they didn't? What if they let him go? What if he came after her again, or targeted Lexa instead to get revenge? 

But Lexa had a cop for a sister; he wouldn't be that stupid, would he? Except he'd gone to the police in the first place, claiming he'd been assaulted even though he'd been the one with the knife, so who knew what he might be capable of. 

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?" Wells asked. "You just got pale."

"Er," Raven quipped, dropping her tray on the table and plunking down into the seat next to Wells. "She just got pal _er_. She's always a little melanin-challenged." 

Wells rolled his eyes and Raven grinned, but it wavered when she looked at Clarke again. "Seriously, Griffin," she said. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," Clarke said, a little more forcefully than she meant to, shading into 'the lady doth protest too much' territory. "Seriously, guys. I appreciate your concern, but it's just too many horror flicks and too little sleep. I'll be fine tomorrow."

"You better be," Raven said. "We've got Quiz Bowl tomorrow, and we need you at the top of your game. We're so close to making it to sectionals, we can't afford any mistakes." 

"I'll be ready," Clarke said. "Have I ever let you down before?"

"There's a first time for everything," Raven said, sounding eerily like Anya for a second. 

"I'll be ready," Clarke repeated. "Trust me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think I had forgotten this story? I hadn't... just took a while to get back to it. Hope you all enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

Lexa dropped her backpack and leaned back against the door, letting her weight close it and reaching behind herself to twist the lock. She closed her eyes and kept them closed so she could imagine for a minute that when she opened them she would see something other than the ratty couch and worn carpet and dilapidated desk with the outdated computer that no one ever used because Anya had gotten Lexa a laptop last Christmas and did everything she needed to do either on her phone or at work. She imagined a place more like Clarke's, where the stairs were _inside_ the house instead of leading up to it, and there were curtains on the windows instead of dusty blinds and window shades that refused to go up when they were down and down when they were up, at least on the first try. A place like the houses her friends lived in, and that she assumed they imagined she lived in, too, because she'd never let them see this place, ever. 

"Rough day?" Anya asked, and Lexa jumped, muscles contracting and pulling her into a fighting stance before she could register that it was only her sister and not a threat. Anya laughed as Lexa forced herself to relax, shaking out her limbs. "Wow," she said. "Jumpy much?"

"No," Lexa lied. "I'm fine. It was fine." She picked up her backpack and threw it on the couch. She had homework she needed to get to, but first she needed a shower. She was pretty sure that the unpleasant smell she kept getting a whiff of wasn't coming from the hallway for once. Coach had worked them hard in practice today, and Lexa had pushed herself to her limit. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for work?"

"Night off," Anya said. "I get those occasionally." 

It was meant to be a joke, but it wasn't really funny, because 'occasionally' was an overstatement of the truth. Anya rarely took a night off, because she couldn't afford to, and Lexa knew that was her fault. She'd offered to get a job, but Anya waved her off, saying that school was her job, and when was she going to fit it in between school, homework, soccer, student council, and the community service hours she was required to do to graduate? 

"I'm gonna order something for dinner," Anya added. "Don't feel like cooking."

"I'll cook," Lexa said. "Let me just—"

Anya sighed. "More like I can't cook because there's no food in the house and I don't feel like going to the store right now," she said. "What do you want?"

"I'll go—"

"I don't get paid 'til Friday," Anya said. "Okay? Just... what do you want?"

"If you don't have money for groceries, how do you—"

"Credit card," Anya said. 

"They take credit cards at the grocery store, too," Lexa pointed out.

Anya's already brittle mask of good humor cracked and crumbled. "You know what? Never mind. I was trying to do something nice, give us a both a break, but you want to do things the hard way, so fine. I'll go to the damn store. Take a shower – you stink. And when you're done, strip the bed and wash the sheets and towels."

"I just did the sheets—"

"And then you fucked your girlfriend on them, so excuse me for wanting them washed again before I sleep on them."

Lexa's felt herself turning red, the flush spreading from her cheeks down her neck and out to her ears. "She's not my girlfriend," she snapped. "And I didn't... nothing happened." 

"Uh-huh," Anya said. "That's why you two were all cozied up to each other this morning when I woke you up. Because nothing happened."

"Nothing... we didn't have _sex_ ," Lexa said. "All of our clothes were on!" She bit the inside of her cheek, wishing she could take the words back. Wishing she could take all of it back, just rewind back to last night and... 

... and what? Not save Clarke? That wasn't an option. If she'd seen what she'd seen and done nothing, and something had happened to her, Lexa would never have been able to forgive herself. But she could have kept an eye on the guy, made sure he didn't follow Clarke so that she could get home safely. She could have had Anya or one of the cops take Clarke home after their statements were taken. She could have insisted on sleeping on the couch while Clarke slept in the bed. She could have not kissed her, not kept kissing her, not...

"Did you get off?" Anya asked, and Lexa hated her, because she knew that no matter what she said, Anya had already made her mind up, and if she tried to lie Anya would see right through her. So she just glared, and Anya smirked. "Did she?"

"Fuck you." 

"Yeah, you had sex," Anya said. "Even if all of your clothes were on." She turned on her heel and left, leaving Lexa burning with shame and fury in pretty much equal measure. 

She stomped into the bathroom and stripped down, carefully peeling the sweaty bandages from her forearm and tossing them in the trash. Clarke's mom had said it was all right for her to get it wet as long as she was careful to dry it off thoroughly ('pat, don't rub') when she was done and apply more antibiotic ointment and a fresh bandage over it. Although how she was going to bandage it herself she had no idea, and she sure as hell wasn't going to ask Anya. Not with the mood Anya was in today.

Showering was awkward, and more awkward still were the flashes of the night before, when Clarke had had to help her clean all the blood from her skin, that she kept having. She didn't think Clarke had touched her skin directly; there had been a washcloth between them the entire time, and yet... Her pulse throbbed between her legs as she pushed the thoughts – memories – away, along with the one from this morning that had been so brief she thought maybe she'd imagined it, of Clarke's hand under her shirt, copping a feel just as Anya walked in to wake them up.

But she wouldn't do that. Would she? She wasn't some kind of deviant. If it had happened at all – and really, Lexa had been so disoriented by the rude awakening that it might have all been in her head – then it had to have been an accident. 

Lexa rubbed her thighs together as she worked shampoo into her hair, gritting her teeth at the stinging as some of the soap found its way into parts of the cut that hadn't fully scabbed over yet. But even that little pain wasn't enough to override the hot ache in her core, and while her conditioner did its work, she let her hand drift south, one fingertip slipping between her legs to the slickness there, and she shivered and braced herself against the tiles as she fingered her clit, circling slowly at first, then faster and harder until she stifled a groan against the inside of her elbow. Her knees were wobbly when she tipped her head back under the stream of water to rinse out the conditioner, and remained so as she climbed out of shower, grabbing one towel for her hair and wrapping another around her body. 

Bandaging her arm turned out to be even more awkward than she'd thought, but at least it was covered. Dressed in an old t-shirt and pajama pants, she grabbed a fistful of quarters and the bundle of sheets and towels Anya insisted needed washing and made her way down to the building's creepy basement, where there were several washers an dryers, half of which actually worked on a good day. Luckily, no one else had decided it was laundry day yet, so she was able to stuff everything into a machine and get it going before trudging back up to the apartment.

When she got back upstairs, the door was open, and her heart lurched in her chest. She nudged it, peering through the crack, and let out a sigh of relief when she saw Anya inside, her arms full of bags. She probably hadn't realized the door hadn't closed behind her, or maybe she'd planned to come back once she'd set everything down. The neighborhood was sketchy, but their neighbors were generally okay, and it was unlikely anyone would just wander in if they saw the door open. 

Lexa shut and locked the door, then went into the kitchen and began emptying the grocery bags into the refrigerator and cabinets. Anya looked at her. "Thanks," she said. She set the last bag on the counter, and the smells coming from it made Lexa's mouth water. "I only half-listened," she said, her smile crooked. "I guess I know where you get it from."

Lexa managed a smile back, which turned into a grunt and a grimace as Anya yanked her into her arms and hugged her so tight it felt like she was squeezing all the air from Lexa's lungs. "You could have _died_ ," she hissed. "All I could think about all day was how you could have died, and instead of hearing about some douchewad getting attacked by a ninja, I could have been responding to a call of a teenage girl found stabbed to death in an alley. And what would I have done then?"

_Gone back to the life you had before you stuck yourself with me,_ Lexa thought, but she didn't say it. It wasn't an argument worth having again... and they'd had it plenty of times before. Almost daily, early on, but less and less frequently as time went on and they'd settled into their life together. But every once in a while Lexa did something stupid and reckless and they fell back into the same old screaming match. 

"I'm sorry," Lexa said, wrapping her arms around Anya and hugging back. "But I couldn't just—"

"I know," Anya said, her voice soft, her lips close enough to Lexa's ear that she could feel her breath. It tickled, and she scrunched up her shoulder. Anya loosened her grip with a soft laugh. "I know. I just..." She sighed, shook her head. "You scare me, Lexa. You know that? Because you do the right things for the right reasons but you just have this way of doing them in the most terrifying way possible, and..."

"I don't mean to," Lexa said. "I don't go looking."

"You sure about that?" Anya asked, but Lexa was pretty sure it was meant to be rhetorical.

"Food's getting cold," Lexa pointed out. 

Anya squeezed her arms one last time before letting her go. "I'll get the plates."

* * *

"Are you sure you're going to be all right?" her mother asked. "I can see if I can get someone to cover my shift, or—"

"Mom," Clarke said. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. Seriously." 

"Maybe you could have one of your friends come over," Abby suggested. "Just for the night. Just so you're not alone."

"It's a school night," Clarke pointed out. 

"You could invite Raven," Abby said. "Her mother..." She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to.

Clarke considered. It wasn't the _worst_ idea, and her mom was right. Raven's mother wouldn't care if she spent the night on a school night. She would probably be happy to be rid of her. It would let her spend the night doing whatever she wanted with whoever her boyfriend of the minute was... although from what Raven had said once, late at night in the dark when Clarke couldn't see her face, Raven's presence didn't always stop her. 

And hey, if Raven was so concerned about her being ready for Quiz Bowl tomorrow, she could help her prep. "Yeah, okay," she said. "I'll text her."

"Is there some kind of rule that teenagers aren't allowed to actually use their phones to talk to each other these days?" her mother asked. "You know that that's what a phone is for, right?"

Clarke just rolled her eyes and typed a quick message to Raven, saying maybe she was right that she wasn't as ready as she could be (because telling Raven she was right was a tried and true shortcut to getting her to do what you wanted) and did she want to come over to do some last-minute review?

She got a response a second later.

**Raven:** What's in it for me? 😉

Which was her way of asking what was for dinner, because food tended to be scarce at Raven's house, along with clean surfaces and privacy.

"What are we bribing her with?" Clarke asked. 

"Chinese?" Abby suggested. "She always says that the place we order from is the best." 

**Clarke:** Scallion pancakes?

**Raven:** I'll be there in ten. 

**Clarke:** How? Have you suddenly developed the power of flight?

**Raven:** I was in your neck of the woods – WTF is that anyway? Since when do forests have necks? – already. Tell you more when I get there. 

**Raven:** And if you want any of that fried onion-y goodness, you better get two orders 'cause I'm not sharing.

Clarke laughed. 

**Clarke:** See you soon.

"She's coming," Clarke said. "And Chinese is good. Two orders of scallion pancakes. You know what we like." 

"I think _they_ have our order memorized by now," Abby said, looking slightly sheepish. "I'll call it in, then I've got to head out." She pulled Clarke into a quick hug, then dialed the Chinese place to order their usual. 

"Twenty minutes," her mother called a minute later. "Have fun, but don't stay up too late. If either of you need anything, call me." Clarke heard the door open.

"I will," Clarke said. Then, before the door could close again, "Love you."

There was a pause, and then her mother appeared in the living room doorway. "Love you too, sweetheart," she said. "See you in the morning." 

Raven arrived almost exactly ten minutes after her last text, and the food showed up not long after. Clarke grabbed plates from the cupboard, so they could at least pretend they were civilized, while Raven spread the containers out on the coffee table. They filled their plates and took up their usual positions at either end of the couch before digging in.

When they'd gotten to the point of chasing grains of rice around with chopsticks and contemplating whether or not they wanted seconds now or later, Clarke finally asked, "So what were you doing around here?" she asked. Raven had said she would tell her later, after all.

"Oh right," Raven said. "You know how I went to that science camp over the summer?" 

Clarke nodded. How could she forget? It had led to one of her biggest mistakes, which almost destroyed her and Raven's friendship. In her defense, Finn had told her that he and Raven were taking a break while she was away, but she'd been stupid enough to believe him. When his father had gotten a new job halfway across the country, he'd pitched a fit about moving, but both she and Raven had been glad to see the back of him by that point.

"Turns out one of the instructors there – Sinclair – lives around here, and he's starting an internship program at his job and I was obviously the first person he thought of. I went over there to see the facility and do an interview, but it's pretty much a formality. I know I'm gonna get it. He loves me." Raven flashed Clarke a cocky smirk, but Clarke knew that behind the bravado, there was a little part of Raven that clung to the kernel of doubt, not just in her abilities but in her value as a human being, that her mother had planted long ago, and which got watered and fertilized pretty much every time she went home... which was why she spent as little time as she could there. Clarke still wasn't sure why she'd balked when Abby had offered to let her stay here on a more official basis, but there were some things they just didn't talk about. 

"That's awesome," Clarke said. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Raven said, her smirk softening into a real smile. "If I can really impress them, they might help me pay for college, in exchange for, like, dibs on me when I graduate. Which I'm not sure how I feel about that, exactly, but I can't afford to go anywhere on my own, so..." She shrugged. "I'll figure it out. I'm not stupid enough to sign anything without reading it first." She dragged her backpack over and tugged at the zipper. "You ready to get down to business?"

Later, after they'd decided they definitely weren't going to eat anymore and had put the leftovers away, they relocated to Clarke's room. There was just something about having the whole house empty around them that made Clarke want to shut herself in a smaller space, even before she'd had any reason to fear what might be lurking in the shadows. She double-checked that the door was locked and the alarm system was on, then followed Raven upstairs.

Raven flopped onto the giant beanbag that occupied more of Clarke's floorspace than she'd anticipated when she'd asked for it, then shifted, pulling a wadded-up pair of sweatpants out from under her. She held them so they unfurled like a banner and her eyebrows arched. "Since when do you play soccer?" she asked. 

_Shit._ Clarke had forgotten that she still had Lexa's pants, much less that she'd left them laying around. And of course Raven found them right off; she seemed to have a knack for finding ways and reasons to give Clarke a hard time. "They're not mine," she said, realizing as soon as the words were out of her mouth that it was the worst possible thing that she could say, because it left the door wide open for Raven to ask whose they were. 

Which she didn't want to answer. No one had said that she _couldn't_ talk about what had happened the night before, and part of her wanted to... but then again, another part of her wanted her life to just go back to normal, and that wouldn't happen if all of her friends were worried that she was going to be hunted down by an axe murderer if they let down their guard for a minute. And considering there was an ongoing police investigation (at least she thought there was... she hadn't asked and no one had told her anything) it seemed like it might be better not to say too much. Which basically meant saying nothing at all, because Raven would see through any half-truths she tried to spin. 

But instead of asking the obvious question, Raven's eyebrows went up, and her lips curved into a smirk. "Oh really? Are you going to tell me whose they are?"

"Does it matter whose they are?"

Raven tipped her head like she was seriously considering the question. "I guess that depends on how they ended up in your possession," she said finally. When Clarke didn't immediately respond, her smirk spread into a grin. "Fine," she said. "If you're not going to tell me, I'll just guess, and you can tell me if I'm getting hotter or colder." 

"Oh for—shouldn't we be studying? Isn't that why you're here?" Clarke asked. 

"I'm digesting," Raven said, "which leaves very little blood flow to the brain. Which, if you think about it, explains a lot about teenage boys." She winked at Clarke. "Speaking of... you have these sweatpants because Octavia dared you to go into the boy's locker room and steal them." 

"Cold," Clarke said. 

"You have them because you dared Octavia to go into the boy's locker room and steal them, and she handed them off to you and you kept them."

Clarke snorted. "Headed toward Antarctica."

"One of the guys on the soccer team tried to cheat off of you and you stole them as revenge."

"You may be the first person to ever complete a solo mission to the South Pole." Clarke paused. 

Raven frowned, holding the pants up again. "Oh duh. How silly of me. These are _girls_ pants. The boys are gray with blue lettering; girls have blue with gray. Okay... one of the soccer _girls_ tried to cheat off you and you stole them as revenge." 

"There was no stealing," Clarke said. "Or cheating." She didn't even know why she was playing along, except maybe in the vain hope that Raven would get tired of it and stop asking. 

"Hmm..." Raven stared at the ceiling, then looked back at Clarke. "I've got it! A secret admirer left chocolates for you on your chair, but you didn't notice and you sat on them, and you had to ransack the locker room for something to wear so you didn't walk around all day looking like you'd shit yourself!"

Clarke laughed. "That's it," she said. "You got me. That's exactly what happened."

Raven laughed too. "You're such a liar. Seriously, Griffin. There has to be _some_ kind of story. You don't play soccer. You don't hang out with anyone who _does_ play soccer. So why would you have a pair of Arkadia Soccer sweatpants?"

"Why do you care so much?" Clarke asked. 

"Because you're not telling me," Raven said. "If you said, 'Oh, I forgot my gym clothes so I had to borrow them,' then I would have been like, 'Oh, that makes sense, let's go over these history notes again,' but you decided to be all cagey about it so now I know that there's some kind of story, and I want to know what it is. Because, no offense or anything, but you're honestly pretty boring most of the time, so it's not often that I any juicy details about anything from you."

"No offense," Clarke said, rolling her eyes. "Right." She sighed. "Can we please get back to this stuff?" She held up a stack of flashcards. "Sometimes a pair of sweatpants is just a pair of sweatpants." 

Raven narrowed her eyes, and for a second Clarke thought she might keep pushing, but finally she let the offending garment fall to the floor. "Sure," she said. "History? Or Literature?"

* * *

Clarke had just climbed into bed when there was a soft knock on the door. "Come in," she said, figuring Raven probably needed to know where they kept the spare toothpaste or something. 

Raven stuck her head in like she thought Clarke might lob a pillow at her (even though Clarke's aim was terrible) but when no projectiles were forthcoming the rest of her body followed. "I'm sorry about earlier," she said. "You're right. Sometimes sweatpants are just sweatpants, and even if they're not, it's none of my business."

"Thanks," Clarke said, hoping that would be the end of it. But there was something in Raven's expression, in her eyes, that reminded Clarke of a scolded puppy. Like she knew she'd done something wrong, pushed too far, overstepped, but she couldn't figure out how or where or why. Like she'd thought that they were friends who told each other things, but now she was doubting it, because why would Clarke keep something so seemingly trivial from her. 

It made Clarke's chest hurt. "It's just... a long story."

"You have somewhere else to be?" Raven asked. 

"Sleeping?"

Raven glanced at the clock. "It's not that late."

Clarke rolled her eyes and sighed. "Fine," she said, and Raven was across the room in a few bounding strides, launching herself and landing across Clarke's feet, and then grumbling as if it wasn't her own fault when she ended up with toes dug into her ribs. "They're Lexa's."

Raven's eyebrows shot up. "Lexa _Woods_? Student Council President Lexa Woods? Varsity Soccer Captain Lexa Woods? _That_ Lexa?"

"Yes," Clarke said. "That Lexa." She pulled one of the extra pillows to her chest. "Last night when I was walking home some guy was following me, and she noticed and intercepted him. Kind of got into a little bit of a fight with him, and when we got away we were both kind of freaked out, and she had gotten a scrape so I went home with her to help patch her up, and I ended up spending the night."

Which was close enough to the truth that it didn't immediately set off Raven's bullshit detector, but maybe it had been thrown off from the start by the fact that Clarke had actually been in real, potentially life-threatening danger the night before, and that wasn't something that Raven was used to thinking of as part of Clarke's world. Neither was Clarke, for that matter, and she felt okay now, but she wondered how she would feel next time she was walking alone after dark. Which she would have to do eventually, even if she managed to avoid it for a while. 

"Shit," Raven said. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks," Clarke said. "Her—I got dropped off here this morning, and I forgot to give her back the sweatpants. I guess I'll have to return them tomorrow or something." She would just have to think of an inconspicuous way to do it, because if Raven's reaction to her having any interaction with Lexa was any indication, it was going to be gossip-fodder if they weren't careful.

_They_ would be gossip-fodder, even without people knowing the half of it.

"You're blushing," Raven pointed out, rolling over onto her stomach and propping her chin on one hand. "Why are you blushing?"

"It's just warm in here," Clarke said. 

"Uh-huh," Raven said. "Are you sure she just _happened_ to be there to see that guy following you? You seemed like you were in kind of a hurry to leave last night... are you sure you weren't sneaking out for a secret little rendezvous with Arkadia's Queen Bee?"

Clarke felt her ears go red. "Shut up, Raven," she said. 

"I'm right, aren't I?" Raven said, sitting up. "Holy shit! You _like_ her!"

"I barely know her," Clarke said. 

"But you _want_ to know her," Raven said. " _Intimately._ "

"You need to leave," Clarke said, kicking her through the blankets. "Right now. Get out of my room."

Raven slid off the bed, grinning. "Okay, okay," she said. "Sweet dreams, Clarke..." She winked and darted out of the room before Clarke could decide that she was willing to take her chances with her aim after all.


	4. Chapter 4

When Raven pulled Lexa's sweatpants out of her backpack the next morning, Clarke almost had a heart attack. "What are you doing?" she hissed. 

"Don't worry," Raven said, "I got you." 

Clarke tried to grab her arm, but Raven dodged away from her grip and Clarke's fingers closed on air. "Raven!" 

But her voice was lost in the cacophony of the lobby, and Raven was already halfway across it, quickly closing in on a cluster of girls off to one side. A group that included Lexa. Clarke tried one more time to catch up to Raven and stop her from doing whatever it was she was planning on doing, but where crowds parted for her charismatic friend, she might as well not exist for the notice other students took of her efforts to move between them. 

Which meant she could only stand and watch in horror as Raven sidled up to Lexa, sweatpants in hand, and whatever conversation Lexa had been having with her friends stopped as they all turned to see what had made Raven dare to cross the invisible but obvious boundary between their social echelon and her own. 

"Lexa," Raven said, as if they weren't all staring, "Hey. I just wanted to say thank you for letting me borrow these for gym yesterday. I didn't want a zero for participation; can you imagine if my grade in _gym_ brought down my GPA?" She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Anyway, thanks again."

Lexa's quickly smoothed out her surprised expression into a blank mask, and then a smile. "Of course," she said. "Any time." She took the garment from Raven and tucked it into her bag, but Clarke didn't think she imagined it when, just for a second, Lexa's eyes swept the lobby and caught hers. By the time she made herself look away, Raven was back at her side.

"See?" she said softly. "Problem solved."

"Thank you," Clarke said, shouldering past someone hard enough that they turned and glared at her. An apology rose to her lips, but she squeezed them together to keep it from escaping. Why should she be sorry when people ran into her all the time without even noticing? 

When she reached her locker, Raven was still with her, even though her locker was in a different hallway. From the bulging seams of her backpack, she probably had everything she needed already. "Are you mad at me?" she asked. "I was doing you—"

"No," Clarke said, shaking her head. "I'm not mad at you. Just..." She didn't even know what she was feeling. She hadn't had a plan for how she was going to return the pants, but now that Raven had done it for her, she had no reason – no excuse – to talk to Lexa again. 

Not that she needed an excuse, exactly. High school social structures aside, they weren't _actually_ on different levels, and Clarke could approach her any time she wanted, for any reason she wanted. It was just that if she did, there would be consequences, and no matter how stupid and petty and, well, _high school_ it was, it would aim a spotlight straight at them, and Clarke wasn't sure she wanted that. 

"It's fine," she finally said to Raven. "Thank you."

Raven looked at her with narrowed eyes, but before she could say anything Wells came up, in the middle of some heated debate with Octavia, effectively ending the conversation as they both tried to recruit their friends to their side of the argument.

* * *

The day passed quickly, and at the end of seventh period Clarke headed for her locker to gather the books she would need for homework over the weekend. They got to miss last period because of Quiz Bowl; the trip to the school where it was being held was about as far away from their school as it could get and still be in the same region. 

She was slipping books into her bag when a pair of legs appeared in her peripheral vision, their approach so quiet she hadn't noticed until whoever they belonged to was close enough to touch her, and her heart lurched in her chest. She turned her head slowly, looking up and half expecting to see the glint of metal in the sickly fluorescent glow. But it was just Lexa...

... if it was possible to be _just_ Lexa. 

"Shit," she breathed. "You scared me."

Lexa's forehead furrowed. "I—" Her expression went distant, like she'd actually stepped outside of herself to look at the situation from Clarke's perspective, and she quickly dropped down into a crouch so she was at Clarke's level. "I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't thinking."

"It's fine," Clarke said. "Did you need something?"

Lexa's brows drew together again, and for a second she was quiet, like she wasn't sure what she wanted the say, or maybe even why she'd come over. The halls were empty and the bell had rung to signal the start of last period, but she didn't seem bothered. Clarke guessed maybe when you were at the top of the food chain, you didn't need to concern yourself with things like rules. "Thank you," she said finally. "For returning them. Or having Raven return them. You didn't have to—" She stopped, frowning.

Clarke waited for her to continue, but when she didn't, she said, "You're welcome." She was a little surprised that Lexa knew Raven's name, but then she'd known Clarke's name, too, and for all Clarke knew, Lexa had gone through the yearbook and made sure to learn the names of everyone in the senior class. It would make her look good, like she genuinely cared about them as people, if she could greet everyone by name. 

She finished shoving books into her bag and zipped it up, hefting it onto her shoulder as she stood. Lexa rose too, and they stood for a second with Clarke's open locker between them, looking in each other's direction but not quite making eye contact. "Well," Clarke said, shutting the metal door with a soft clang, "I've gotta go."

"Right," Lexa said. "Okay." 

"I'll see you around," Clarke said. She started to turn, but before she could take a step Lexa's hand shot out and caught her sleeve, and Clarke swore that she could feel the heat of her skin burning through all the layers between them. 

"Does she know?" Lexa asked. "Did you tell her?"

"Tell her what?" Clarke asked. Was she worried that people would find out that she moonlighted as some kind of avenging angel ninja? Or... Clarke's face flushed, and the rest of her body followed as Lexa took a step closer, so that it was more than just her hand touching Clarke. 

"That we... had sex," Lexa whispered.

Clarke jerked away. "What?" She shook her head. "We didn't." 

Lexa's cheeks flamed, and she took a step back like Clarke had shoved her. "Right," she said. "Of course." She took another step back. "Good luck," she said. 

"What?" Clarke stood frozen, still trying to process what Lexa has said. Did she really think that what they'd done – _accidentally_ \- counted as... 

"Quiz Bowl, right? Last match before sectionals. Good luck." Lexa smiled, but it was so forced it was painful, and then she turned and walked away, leaving Clarke staring after her. 

Clarke only snapped out of it when a hand clapped on her shoulder, giving her her second... no, third... heart attack of the day. "There you are," Wells said. "Come on. We need to get going." 

"Right. Of course," she said, unconscious of the fact that she was echoing Lexa's words of a moment before. She couldn't help glancing over her shoulder as she followed Wells to the front of the school where the bus was waiting, but there was nothing to see. Lexa was gone.

* * *

"We went over this last night!" Raven said, her patience frayed to the breaking point as Clarke got the third question in a row wrong. Luckily they were just quizzing each other to pass the time on the bus; it didn't count for anything. Then, more quietly, "Are you all right?"

Clarke nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. "Yeah. Just... I need a few minutes."

Raven nodded and turned her attention to grilling someone else. Clarke put in her earbuds and put on the playlist that she used to pump herself up before matches, which was probably something most people associated with athletes more than Mathletes (their school didn't actually have a Mathlete team, and if they did, she wouldn't be on it, but that was beside the point) but it helped her to focus... most of the time. Today it felt like a Sisyphean task to drag her brain into the place it needed to be to make sure her team came out on top...

... and thinking about anyone being on top of anything threw her right back to Halloween night, and then the look on Lexa's face this afternoon, and seriously, what the fuck? They hadn't... if they'd actually...

She turned up her music louder, so loud people nearby could probably hear it, but at least she couldn’t hear herself think. By the time they pulled up to the school where the tournament was being held, she'd managed to shove all thoughts of Lexa into a padlocked box in a closet in the back of her mind and wedged a chair under the knob to keep anything from getting out. The only thing she would allow herself to think about for the next several hours would be trivia, and the only crushing she would be doing was of the competition.

* * *

The parking lot was packed when they got back to the school, and they could hear the roar – or more likely groan – of the crowd as their football team suffered another humiliating loss. They were terrible this year, and Clarke honestly didn't understand why anyone bothered to show up to games anymore... including the team. What was the point when your chances of winning were somewhere between zero and none? 

Wells nudged her. "Pizza?" he asked. "We should all celebrate."

"Pizza's good," Clarke said, smiling at him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she let him. It wasn't weird anymore, now that she was sure that he didn't mean anything by it. They'd been friends forever, and back during sophomore year Wells had gotten it into his head that maybe they should be more than friends, and it hadn't sounded like the worst idea ever... until things started to get physical. Kissing him hadn't been terrible – objectively, he was a good kisser – but one night after a party where they'd both had a little too much to drink, they'd gone back to Clarke's place where no one was home and one thing had led to another...

It had been awful, but at least it had been quick. 

They'd briefly entertained the thought that maybe it had just been bad because of the alcohol and the fact that neither of them knew what they were doing before realizing that no, it was weird and uncomfortable because they just couldn't quite see each other that way... and by 'that way' they meant naked. 

The entire team piled into cars and headed for their favorite pizza place, where the staff had to push several tables together to make one big enough for them, and they were getting dirty looks from other diners before they'd even placed their order. No matter how many times Clarke tried to tell them to keep it down, their collective volume always ratcheted upward again within a minute or two. Clarke finally gave up trying and joined in the fun. 

After they'd demolished several large pizzas, the group split up, some heading home, others going to the movies or to hang out elsewhere. "You need a ride?" Clarke asked Raven. 

"Yeah," Raven said. "I mean..." 

Clarke grimaced. "Or you could just come over," she said. Because Friday night was never a good night at the Reyes house. Raven's mother liked to celebrate the end of the week with a few drinks, and she often had others over to join her, because drinking alone on the weekend was just pathetic. 'But drinking alone on a weekday is totally okay,' Raven had said more than once, her voice dripping with sarcasm. When she said it to her mother's face, she usually got slapped. When she'd pointed out that in order to celebrate the weekend you should probably actually work during the week, she'd gotten herself locked out for three days. It had taken some fast talking to convince Clarke's mom not to call Child Protective Services that time.

"Come on," Clarke said, unlocking her car and getting in. 

"Netflix and Chill?" Raven asked, waggling her eyebrows and grinning.

"You're never going to let me live down the fact that I didn't know that was a euphemism, are you?" Clarke grumbled, turning the key in the ignition and glancing over her shoulder to make sure she didn't run over any of her friends when backing out.

"Nope," Raven said. "Not that you're not hot, but I think we're better as friends."

Clarke snorted and shook her head, turning her attention to the road, following the familiar route home almost on autopilot as the chair disappeared and the closet door opened, and her subconscious started picking at the locked box even as her conscious screamed to leave it alone, nothing good could come of opening it.

They were settled on the couch in pajamas with the bowl of leftover Halloween candy, waiting for Netflix to load, when Raven dropkicked the box and shattered it, sending pieces flying like shrapnel. "Maybe you should invite _Lexa_ over to Netflix and chill sometime," she teased. 

Clarke nearly choked on the bite-sized Snickers she'd just popped into her mouth, but she knew that even the resulting coughing fit wasn't enough to explain the fact that she'd suddenly turned the same color as the Netflix home screen. 

Raven started to laugh but stopped abruptly when she realized Clarke wasn't laughing. "Shit, are you actually choking?" she asked. "I took first aid, but I really don't—"

Clarke shook her head. She got up on wobbly legs and went to the kitchen for a glass of water, sipping slowly until her throat was clear, and went back to the living room. "If I tell you something, do you swear you won't tell anyone else?" she asked. 

"Depends what it is," Raven said. "If it's about you or someone else getting hurt—"

"Nothing like that," Clarke said. "Not... shit." She cleared her throat, feeling heat prickling all over her body, beads of sweat forming on her upper lip and under her arms. 

"I promise I won't tell anyone," Raven said. "As long as—"

"Lexa and I made out," Clarke blurted. "And it got really intense and... and we, well..." Her mother would be ashamed of how inarticulate she was about the subject, but all the frank discussions about the body and sexuality and physical intimacy in the world didn't actually prepare one for the slew of complicated, mixed-up feelings that it could give you. "And she thinks we had sex, but... it's not like we meant for it to happen. It's not like we were _trying_ to get off. It just... happened. You can't _accidentally_ have sex! We had all our clothes on, for fuck's sake!" 

There was a long silence during which Clarke didn't dare look at Raven. Finally, Raven said mildly, "Interesting choice of words."

"Shut up," Clarke said, but there was no force behind it. 

She felt Raven's weight shift, and if she hadn't already been pressed against the arm of the couch, Clarke might have tried to move away as her friend settled on the center cushion, close enough to Clarke that one of her knees pressed Clarke's thigh. "Hey," Raven said. "Look at me."

The sulky, stubborn part of Clarke wanted to look the opposite direction, just because, but she did as Raven asked, and she wasn't sure she'd ever seen her friend's eyes look so soft and _concerned_. "Do you wish it hadn't happened?" she asked. 

"Obvio—" But she stopped herself, because it wasn't obvious at all. Nothing about this felt obvious anymore. At the time, it had felt good. Hell, she'd been the one who started it. It had been comfort and connection and affirmation that she was still alive – they were both still alive – and even though everything was fucked up at least they weren't alone. And the kiss after... 

The kiss after was everything that books and movies and television told you a kiss should be. It hadn't been just two mouths meeting and mashing together. It had been soft and sweet and full of possibility, and Lexa had asked for it but Clarke had wanted it... more than she'd ever wanted anything from anyone, she'd wanted it. 

"No," Clarke said softly. "I don't wish that. At all." 

"Okay," Raven said. "Then why does it matter what you call it, or what she calls it?" 

"Because when she said it, I'm pretty sure I looked at her like she was crazy. I told her no, we didn't, and I think... I _know_ I hurt her. And I can't take it back, and I don't know how to fix it. I don't know if it's even fixable." 

"But you want to," Raven said. 

"Yes," Clarke said. 

"Are you sure it's not just because she saved you?" Raven asked, and that made Clarke stop. "I'm not saying that you shouldn't try to fix things, or at least apologize for hurting her, but... gratitude isn't necessarily the best base to try to build a relationship on. Speaking from experience." 

Clarke reached out and put her hand on Raven's knee, and Raven let her, even though she wasn't big on affection, or comfort... but maybe that was just Clarke's perception of her. Maybe Raven just put up a good front so that people thought nothing ever got to her, shoving every bad feeling down, all the while screaming inside with no way to get it out. Finn had been her boyfriend, but before that he had been her friend, from the time they were small. He had been her safety net, his house the place where Raven went when things at home got so bad she couldn't handle it anymore, his shoulder the one she cried on when she couldn't hold it in anymore. Now he was gone. It wasn't Clarke's fault, but she still felt guilty. 

Just like she felt guilty about what had happened with Lexa. Lexa had risked her life for her. She'd only gotten cut, but she could have _died_. And how had Clarke thanked her? 

Suddenly all of the pizza she'd eaten, and the candy on top of it, wasn't sitting too well, and she got up and hurried to the bathroom, heaving over the toilet until there was nothing left in her stomach and she was collapsed on the tile, spent and sweaty in the worst way possible. 

"You okay?" Raven asked, crouching down beside her. 

"No," Clarke said. "Not even a little bit."

Raven nodded. She found a washcloth and ran it under the tap, soaking it with cool water and handing it to Clarke to wipe her face, then draped another over the back of her neck. Even though she wasn't sick in the traditional sense, it felt good. "I didn't mean to make things worse," Raven said quietly. "I'm not saying you shouldn't, or that it can't work. Just... know why you're doing it."

"Yeah," Clarke said. She leaned back against the wall, drawing her knees up and resting her forehead against them. _I probably should just stay away,_ she thought. _It worked up until a few nights ago._

Because the truth was that she'd noticed Lexa the day she first turned up in her first period English class, a month into sophomore year. Noticed her in a way she hadn't really noticed anyone before, or at least not with the same intensity, the same single-minded focus. She'd been drawn to her, transfixed, and she'd spent the entire class period trying not to stare and rehearsing what she would say to her when class was over, trying to think of something that would make her sound cool, or at least cooler than she was. When the bell rang, she'd positioned herself carefully so that she was directly between Lexa and the door, and just as she opened her mouth to say hi, one of the popular girls swooped in, throwing her arm around Lexa and chattering a mile a minute, and Clarke's fate had been sealed. 

By the time Clarke saw her again at the end of the day, Lexa had already been well and truly absorbed into the popular crowd, and she knew she stood no chance. She was in the Chess Club (which consisted of herself and Wells and pretty much no one else), for fuck's sake. 

Since then Clarke had learned to embrace her place in the social structure, because she had a solid group of friends and a set of extracurricular activities that she enjoyed. But she'd never quite gotten over her... though she would never admit it, even to herself... crush on Lexa Woods.

So when she'd kissed her on Halloween night, maybe gratitude was part of it. Part, but not all. 

"I've wanted to kiss her for years," Clarke said. "What happened... maybe it was just the shove I needed to finally do it. If the world might end tomorrow, at least I could have that moment first... or something. I don't know. But she kissed me back! She..." Clarke shook her head. "It felt like something. The beginning of something. Something neither of us wanted to let go of. Neither of us wanted to end. And then morning came, and reality with it, and..." Clarke sighed. "And now I'm here, and she's... wherever she is, and I think maybe she was trying to go back to that moment, to see if it was really real or if... And I broke it. I just took a fucking sledgehammer and shattered it, and—"

"And there are very few things that are so broken that they can't be fixed," Raven said. "Not if you're willing to put in the work." She gathered up the washcloths and dumped them in the hamper, then reached for Clarke and pulled her up. "Tonight, Netflix and sleep. Tomorrow? You go get your girl."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that I will be on vacation next week and not posting (assuming my plane tomorrow isn't frozen to the runway...) See you all again January 30!


End file.
